In the second part of his outspoken autobiography, Britain's most senior openly gay policeman reveals how he was finally forced to face up to his sexuality.

He tells how he wept when his wife asked him if he was homosexual and how his French ex-boyfriend later beat him up.

After breaking up with my first fiancée, I went home to see Mother. She could see I was very upset.

“Whatever's the matter?” she asked. I placed Jenny's engagement ring on the table - the one she had thrown at me when I told her the relationship wasn't working.

“Oh, thank God for that,” Mum said. “I thought you were going to tell me you were queer.”

Needless to say this set things back in terms of coming out to her ...

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Brian in the early Eighties, when academic work, religious activity and life with his wife pushed his sexuality issues into the background

I first realised I was gay as a ten-year-old Wolf Cub on a day trip to a scout camp in Essex.

The scoutmaster had ordered us to strip off our wet clothes after we were caught in a torrential downpour.

There were about six of us, shivering and trying to hide our embarrassment.

It was then that I saw a scout of about 15 striding past, naked and confident. I thought to myself, 'That's gorgeous!” but knew that what I felt was not “normal”, even though I didn't understand what sex was all about.

The subject of homosexuality seldom came up at home, but whenever it did it was clear my family did not approve.

My father had been a major in the Royal Tank Regiment, was mentioned in dispatches for distinguished service in Italy and had taught Field Marshal Montgomery to drive a tank.

Dad always kept his emotions in check - while there may have been some deep, unspoken understanding between us, he never told me that he loved me and we avoided physical contact until the last five years of his life, when we started shaking hands.

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Family affair: Brian with his parents, who were initially upset to learn he was gay

Mum had worked her way up to the number two position in a provincial building society. Both my parents were staunch Conservatives.

My non-identical twin brother John and I went to Sutton Manor High School in Surrey.

I believed I was the only gay boy in school and possibly in all of Sutton, and thought I kept it well hidden.

I was bullied in the sixth form but initially assumed this was because I was well behaved and always neatly turned out. It was not until we were revising chemistry that I realised the real reason.

The teacher asked: “What's the name of a solution where the particles are evenly distributed through the liquid?”

I answered: “Homogenous.” At the back of the class, a voice said: “You should know about that - homo.”

After I took my A-levels in the summer of 1976, my parents expected me to go to university but instead I joined the police.

I knew that the force would be homophobic but it provided both the perfect cover and necessary encouragement for me to keep my sexuality under wraps.

Late one night, shortly after the end of my probationary period, there was a knock on the door of my room in the section house.

It was Barry, the guy from the next room, whom I had been admiring from afar.

He was standing there in his underpants. 'I've noticed something about you, Brian,” he said. 'The way you look at me and some of the other guys.”

My heart raced. My first thought was that I had been “outed” and my career was over.

Ingénue: Brian as a new PC in the Seventies, when he had his first gay encounter

But Barry told me not to worry, he wasn't going to tell anyone. He had realised I was gay and wanted to sleep with me. I was petrified. I was 21 and a virgin.

“All I want to do is sleep with you,” Barry said. “We don't even have to touch.”

His proposition brought a mixture of desire and absolute terror. Trembling, I nodded and we went to bed.

After a while we fell asleep. Several hours later I woke up to find I wasn't shaking any more; my desire overcame my fear.

I had mixed feelings about this first sexual encounter. Everything I had learnt screamed that this was wrong - at the same time it felt instinctively right.

I told Barry that I wanted a relationship but all he wanted was sex, so I stopped seeing him and decided I would have to try to go straight.

I convinced myself that what I really wanted was a best friend whose company would be constant and with whom I would share intimate moments.

There was no choice but to find a woman to be my lifelong companion.

When I was paired with a female officer, we really hit it off. We started seeing each other and after many happy months together I thought Jenny was the one - so I got down on one knee.

To my delight she accepted my marriage proposal. Jenny's parents invited us to their home in Cyprus for two weeks.

Her parents didn't believe in sex before marriage, so our beds were separated by a sheet hung from a washing line - a method that proved entirely ineffective.

However, this was the first time Jenny and I had spent more than a weekend together and, to my horror, we did not get on at all.

It was clear it was never going to work between us and I told Jenny this once we arrived back in Britain. It was then that she threw the ring back at me.

I was distraught. This had been a genuine and determined effort on my part to play it straight and I thought I had succeeded.

Although we had done everything but full sex, all the indications were that it was possible.

It had felt strange to begin with, but it was wonderful to share such intimacy with someone without the guilt that had been associated with sex with Barry.

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Doomed love: Brian's former wife Mary in the early Eighties. They were soulmates, he says, and she has staunchly supported him since he came out to her

After Jenny, I started going out with WPC Fiona Pilborough, who was beautiful, blonde and voluptuous.

One night I called round to her section house to find her in her nightdress. "Do you want me to come back later?” I asked.

With a very firm "No!” she grabbed my arm, pulled me inside and started removing my clothes.

I was petrified and it was some encounters later that I finally overcame my fear and achieved my long-awaited goal.

Despite this slow start, Fiona boasted to her friend that I was "like a kid with a new toy".

I blushed, albeit proudly.

It wasn't long before I began to feel that sex with Fiona had little to do with love and intimacy, but we continued our relationship and actually became engaged.

While on a course, I met a sergeant who was a committed Christian. He shattered the negative stereotype I had of a Christian as a weak, feeble person in need of an emotional crutch.

He was the complete opposite, someone who greatly impressed me.

As we talked about religion, he suggested I read John's Gospel in a modern translation of the Bible.

I read it with an open mind and was convinced - a short time later I found myself at Cheam Baptist Church being baptised by total immersion.

I then decided to abstain from sex before marriage. Fiona did not take this well - we broke up and she called my mother to tell her I was going mad.

I met a couple at church who bemoaned the fact that their daughter Mary was not interested in religion.

When they told her about this upwardly mobile young policeman they knew, they managed to tempt her along to church and we started going out.

I took her sympathy towards the men as an indication that she might be sympathetic to my situation and I determined to tell her.

There never is a right moment for these sorts of life-changing revelations. We were having dinner in a Chinese restaurant one evening in 1988 and I was talking to Mary about Phil.

Mary looked at me and said casually: “You'll think I'm being very stupid . . . but you don't have any inclinations in that direction, do you?”

I looked at my wife - and I did not have to say anything. Tears welled up in her eyes.

At home I told her that I had always been gay but that I loved her and had really wanted the marriage to work.

I had tried so hard to overcome my sexuality but now realised I just had to be myself.

Mary was remarkable, as always.

There was no massive row and she even thanked me for being honest with her.

Incredibly, now that this fundamental secret of my sexuality had been revealed, Mary and I felt closer than ever, but at the same time the marriage was over and divorce was inevitable.

Understandably, Mary did not want to be seen as responsible for the break-up of our marriage, so I had to tell my parents the truth.

While I suspected, and hoped, that my mother would sooner or later employ her oft-used expression "san fairy Ann" (a jokey corruption of the French phrase "ça ne fait rien" - "it doesn't matter"), I had no idea what my father's response would be.

My dad, who was in his 70s, sat in an armchair while my mother was on the sofa.

"I've got to tell you both something,” I said.

"I'm exactly the same person today as I was yesterday. The only difference is that you are about to know something about me today that you didn't know about me yesterday.”

Dad said: “Are you trying to tell us you're gay?”

Not bad for 70!

He was very stoical. Mum, meanwhile, was in tears.

The next day I telephoned her. I asked if I could talk to Dad. "No, he's taken it very badly,” she said.

Apparently, after his initial response, he had become very upset.

Some months after separating from Mary I began my first gay relationship, which lasted seven years, my longest to date.

By now rumours about my sexuality were beginning to circulate at work.

However, it was a sign that things were changing when I was posted to Notting Hill CID.

The culture was very macho and alcohol-fuelled, but a detective sidled up to me at one of our regular drinking sessions and said: “By the way, guv, I share a house with a couple of lesbians.”

Another said: “My uncle used to run a deli in the King's Road and he had several gay customers.”

It was their way of letting me know they knew but that it didn't matter to them.

On the anniversary of the publication of the Macpherson Report into the death of Stephen Lawrence, the Met wanted to do a media piece about diversity, featuring interviews with senior officers from minority backgrounds: one black, one female, one gay.

"Guess which I am?” I asked colleagues when I told them about the plan but the idea was too cheesy even for the Guardian and it was dropped.

I had developed a good professional relationship with a Financial Times journalist. He had known for a time that I was gay and volunteered to tell the world.

The then Commissioner, Sir John Stevens, had wanted a "managed outing" so everything was set.

I finally "came out" in a Saturday edition of the newspaper in 2001. In the middle of an article about the changing face of the Met, a sentence read: “Brian Paddick, the UK's most senior openly gay police officer ..."

The world could easily have missed the announcement so, just to be sure, the line was also used as the caption for the photograph of me.

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Beaten up and left in the gutter - by my boyfriend

During 1995 I met James Renolleau, a charming Frenchman, in a club and we began a tempestuous relationship. James was very jealous, possessive and, occasionally, violent.

On one occasion he stormed out after an argument and I ran after him, calling for him to come back.

When I caught up with him he wheeled round, floored me with a punch and started kicking me while I lay in the gutter.

All I could do was curl up in a ball and try to protect my head with my arms while I waited for him to stop.

My main thought as I lay there was how embarrassing it would be if a passer-by called the police and I, a senior police officer, was found to be the victim of domestic violence.

I secured a promise from James that this would never happen again, but after another huge argument in 2000 I decided it was over and we parted acrimoniously.

Some 15 months later I returned from holiday to find an answerphone message from James saying he had sold the story of our relationship to The Mail on Sunday.

Among other things, he falsely claimed that I had smoked cannabis with him.

The story appeared on March 17, 2002. It took all my courage to go into work the following morning.

My former wife Mary called me during that difficult week to tell me that she had been approached by another newspaper and that she wanted to do a positive interview about me.

The following week there was another article in The Mail on Sunday - my former fiancée Fiona Pilborough had told her story and painted me as a religious nut.

In contrast, Mary's interview said what a wonderful person I was, how we had had a terrific marriage and that I did not deserve to be moved from my job as Commander overseeing policing in the London Borough of Lambeth.

The Metropolitan Police Authority eventually decided not to institute formal misconduct proceedings against me. I sued The Mail on Sunday and we finally settled the case out of court.

Who would have thought things would have turned out the way they did with this paper?

Copyright: Brian Paddick, 2008

• Line Of Fire, by Brian Paddick, is published by Simon & Schuster on March 25 priced £17.99. To order your copy at the special price of £16.20 with free p&p, call The Review Bookstore on 0845 606 4213.

Next week: In the wake of Stockwell, I'd become a direct challenge to the Commissioner and I had to go